


Dreaming in Florescents

by dragonspell



Series: Dreaming In Florescents [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean waiting in the Impala while their dad's inside a random truck stop gas station.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming in Florescents

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal 8-28-16.

**Title:** Dreaming in Florescents  
**Author:** [](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/)**dragonspell**  
**Series:** Supernatural  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** R  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Underage content (Sam's 15, Dean's 19). Pre-series.  
**Summary:** Sam and Dean waiting in the Impala while their dad's inside a random truck stop gas station.  
**Word Count:** 2345  
**A/N:** Sort-of prequel dealing with popsicles here: [Blue Raspberry](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/121127.html). Sequel to this fic: [Clements, Minnesota](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/121541.html).

  
The harsh florescent lights of the gas station shines through the dark night surrounding it, tinting the blacktop pavement in bright green, light blue and deep red. Parked on the outskirts of the parking lot, the Impala’s dashboard gleams dully with the reflected colors. Dean runs a hand over it, patting it soothingly. He’s lived fifteen years in this car and no matter what places he’s stayed in, none of them seem as home as this car. It’s their own little mobile home, Dean supposes.

Dad’s decided that they’ll drive all night to in the hopes of making it to Clements, Minnesota just that much faster. The clock is already ticking on this next hunt and they wasted too much time dispatching a black dog down in Arkansas. Damn thing had nearly taken a chunk of Dad down with it, too. Dean scowls at the memory and that the fact that no matter how many hunts he does, his heart still leaps into his throat whenever Dad or Sammy are in trouble. He’s starting to wonder if he’ll never achieve the cool calm of his father. Thinking about Dad makes Dean turns his head towards the distant convenience store that his father is just now heading into. Dad’s going to take a piss and pick up some snacks for the road and just this once, Dean’s opted to stay in the car. He’ll just have to trust his father to pick up something good because Sammy’s asleep in the backseat and Dean never did have the heart to wake the poor kid up. He can’t leave him undefended, either. Dad had just shrugged at Dean’s choice, shooting a knowing look at the backseat with the small smile that Sammy never gets to see anymore covering his face. Then he’d ruffled Dean’s hair like Dean was six again and had gotten out of the car, the Impala’s door softly creaking as it swung open and closed. Dean’d glowered and fixed his hair like he’d minded the motion but inside, he’d been glowing. He’s still kind of glowing, riding high on the simple joy of his father’s affection.

“Dean…?” a sleepy voice asks and Dean turns in his seat to see Sammy scrubbing at his eyes. “Where are we?” Sam continues, pushing himself up on his elbows to look out the backseat window.

Dean shrugs. “Missouri.”

Sam frowns grumpily. “That’s specific.”

“About 75 miles from the Iowa border, Sammy,” Dean says with another shrug. That’s the best he can do without pulling out the map.

Sam, however, likes that answer better. He nods. “…And Dad?”

Dean jerks his head at the gas station. “Inside.”

“Oh,” Sam says. Then he bites his lip. “And we’re out here.”

“Yeah we are,” Dean answers, narrowing his eyes at Sam. “You’re so smart, Sammy. This how you keep getting those straight A’s?”

“Don’t be a dick,” Sam says with a glare. “You know what I mean.”

Dean stares in the dark, letting silence fall on the car for a long few seconds before he nods and quietly says, “Yeah, I know.” Dean knows exactly what Sam means. What he wants. The same thing Sam always wants when they get a quick few minutes of alone time during their extended periods of driving with Dad. And Dean’s never been able to say no to Sam.

This whole new thing between them all started because Dean could never say no to Sam. Not that he’s ever wanted to.

The Impala’s door creaks as Dean forces it open and slides outside. The air’s just a little crisp outside, not cold but not warm either, and it makes Dean—wearing just a thin T-shirt because he’s been in the car for hours—move fast to the backdoor. He opens it, telling Sam to “move over, Jolly Green,” as he slips inside. Sam moves a few inches, sitting up just a hair to lean more against the door but for the most part, he keeps himself firmly in Dean’s way, long beanpole legs taking up the seat. Dean raises his eyebrows because apparently they’re going to play _that_ way but it’s something that’s never stopped him before. He crawls between Sam’s legs, quietly shutting the door behind him before he slides overtop of Sam and drapes himself over Sam’s incredibly lanky body.

The kid’s been sprouting like a weed lately, already wearing Dean’s actual clothes instead of his hand-me-downs and if Sam gets any taller, Dean’s going to have to face the fact that he might not be the “big” brother much longer. Sam is currently all gangly height and coltishly long legs, though, and awkward in his own skin because of it. He hasn’t learned how to use his height to his advantage yet, either, but Dean figures it’s just a matter of time.

Dean peers down at Sam’s face, one side partially illuminated in the florescent light. “This what you want?” he asks softly.

Sam licks his lips. “Kind of…” he says huskily and leans in to press a slow but chaste kiss on Dean’s closed mouth.

Dean feels his eyes close but he wasn’t aware of seeing anything anyway—nothing but the soft press of Sam against him. Sammy moans, leaning up and tilting his head to push harder against Dean and Dean can’t help the little bit of tongue he slips the kid. Like it’s a damn green light, though, Sam moans again and parts his lips, his own tongue sliding out to lick Dean’s. Sam’s hands grasp the back of Dean’s head, holding him still as Sam pursues Dean’s tongue right back into Dean’s mouth.

Dean’s panting by the time he finally summons up the willpower to break away and again he can’t help himself, giving Sam one last hard, quick kiss before pulling away. His dick is throbbing, already painfully hard in his jeans like he’s the 15 year old instead of a 19 year old man who really ought to know better. He sighs, exasperated with both Sam and himself and lets his head fall against Sam’s shoulder. “Dad’s going to be back soon,” he says. They don’t have time to get into this the way either of them really wants so what the hell is he doing starting any of it?

Sam screws up his face, pissed off when Dean mentions Dad and Dean sighs again. He doesn’t know why Sam and Dad can’t seem to get along anymore; he just knows that them being in the same car together is sometimes like being in the middle of a dogfight with all the snarling and barking and it’s really starting to get on Dean’s nerves. He doesn’t like being caught in between them but it’s exactly where he has to be lately to stop them from ripping out each other’s throats.

He doesn’t know when he stepped into the role of ‘peacemaker’ just that he’s there.

Even when they try not to fight it doesn’t work. Sam will inevitably say something snotty or Dad will say something thoughtless and off they’ll go again, with Dean caught in the middle. So instead of letting Sam go off on a tangent about Dad again, working himself into a mood that would be sure to last for hours, Dean turns his head and kisses Sam’s neck.

Sam’s breath hitches and his hands tighten convulsively in Dean’s hair before they suddenly move, sliding down Dean’s body. One of Sam’s hands pushes underneath Dean’s stomach and it’s Dean’s turn to gasp as it settles directly on his crotch. “Sammy…” Dean groans.

With a little smile, Sam rubs deliberately, putting pressure in just the right places, knowing the way Dean likes it. Dean grunts, his hips shoving forward instinctually before he fumbles down between his legs to pull Sam away. “No,” he says. “Dad’s—”

“I don’t care,” Sam growls, grabbing a hold of Dean’s hair again. He holds Dean still while he kisses him savagely, all bruising pressure and nipping teeth. “Just a hand job, Dean…”

Dean pants, trying to bring himself back together and remember why that would be a colossally bad idea, and stares down at Sam. Somewhere along the way, Sam turned gorgeous and Dean’s not quite sure when. He just knows it’s true, though, looking down at his brother’s pretty face and dark, promising eyes. “You make me come all over my jeans and Dad will be able to smell it,” Dean finally manages to say.

Sam smiles, bitter and mocking like he wants to say ‘who cares?’ but he doesn’t dare and deep down, he knows he cares himself. He moves his hands back up to safer territory, though, skimming along Dean’s chest. He stops just over the nipple, rubbing his thumb over the peaking bud because he knows all about the sparks that little move sends skittering down Dean’s spine. Dean can’t stop the little rolls of his hips and Sam’s grinning at him. “Such a little bitch,” Dean whispers, leaning down to kiss him again.

Their tongues meet and battle before Dean pushes Sammy’s back and slides inside his mouth for a nice leisurely exploration. When they break again, Sammy’s looking as melted as Dean is feeling and when he speaks, his voice is raspy with want. “I’d let you do it, you know,” Sam says.

Dean groans again, even more heartfelt than before and closes his eyes as he shudders. “You don’t fight fair, Sammy…” he whines. The last thing Dean wants is for his underwear to be sticky and damp with precome when Dad comes back but damn it, it’s already too late. Fuck. He bends to nose behind Sam’s ear in retaliation. “You should play nice,” he says. He’d love to fuck Sam—God, does he want to—but he’s been waiting until the kid’s ready. Sam, though, seems to think he’s a whole lot more ready for things than Dean thinks he is.

Sam thumbs over Dean’s nipple again. “Why is that?”

An evil grin to match Sam’s slides over Dean’s face and he tilts his head to nip and lick under Sam’s jaw. “Because if you’re really good, I might give you a blowjob later,” he whispers and laughs when Sam jerks underneath him.

This thing between them just started a few months ago and it’s mainly just been the odd handjob here and there and a whole lot of making out. Once or twice, though, they’ve had time to work in a blowjob and it has since remained Sam’s eternal obsession. Dean catches his brother staring his mouth nearly constantly now, rock hard in his baggy jeans and already starting to pant. Might be pathetic if it wasn’t so hot. Dean’s okay with Sam developing an addiction to his mouth—his own oral fixation plays right into it and frankly, Dean kind of loves the fact that Sam’s now obsessed with sticking things between Dean’s lips—his dick, his fingers, hell, anything remotely phallic really. The kid’s starting to have a real thing for feeding Dean because of it. Not that Dean minds, turning around and seeing Sam standing there holding a popsicle or something and begging Dean to suck on it because it’s the closest Sammy’s going to get while Dad’s just around the corner in the living room.

Dean’ll do it gladly, skewer Sam with a heated stare while he licks his tongue out nice and slow, traveling up the underside of the cold treat. Sam’ll squirm and bite his lip to stop from whining and then Dean lick his way to the top and close his lips around the shaft, sucking and bobbing his head. It’s about then that Sam’s hand will usually shove into his own jeans, shamelessly grabbing himself and Dean’ll be left holding the popsicle. From there, it’s only a matter of time before Sam’ll go dashing off to the bathroom while Dean will chuckle and head innocently into the living room to see how Dad’s doing.

It’s the main reason why even if they don’t really have money, Dean still makes it a point to buy popsicles.  
  
Sam whines and thrusts his hips up against Dean, rubbing against him. “Want you to, Dean…” he pants and Dean feels the smug glow of satisfaction, knowing he’s managed to, if not one-up Sam, at least put him in the same boat as Dean.

“Get down on my knees for you, Sammy, would you like that? Make it all nice and wet for you and just let you push in? You want that?”

“Fuck!” Sam swears and tosses his head back against the window. “Dean—”

Dean would love to say more, wind Sam up just about to the point of breaking, but the hairs on the back of his neck are raising and he glances up and out the windshield. The unmistakable form of Dad is just now leaving the convenience store and Dean pouts. Crap.

He gives Sam one last hard kiss, whispering “You just think about that for awhile,” and throws himself over the seat to scramble back into position.

“Such a _jerk_ ,” Sam hisses and Dean glances back to see Sam desperately clutching his crotch, trying not to jizz his pants.

Dean smiles again. “Later,” he promises and goes back to pretending nothing happened as his father walks across the neon tinted parking lot and up to the car.

The Impala’s door squeals as Dad opens it and a bag of chips and some jerky land on Dean’s lap. “Good enough?” Dad asks.

Dean nods, “Yeah, Dad, thanks,” and opens the bag of chips before turning to shake it at Sam. “Chip?” he asks, laughing at Sam’s glare. Sam crosses his arms and slouches in his seat, apparently set on sulking until they hit Clements and Dad glances between before apparently deciding that he’d rather not know. He starts the car and eases her out of the parking lot, the florescent lights of the anonymous gas station fading from the rearview mirror into the dark of the night. Clements, here they come.

[Blue Raspberry](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/121127.html).  
[Clements, Minnesota](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/121541.html)  



End file.
